


Judge Roy Bean and the Avenging Sentinel

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rangers STILL lead the way. It's just a new battlefield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Judge Roy Bean and the Avenging Sentinel

 

## Judge Roy Bean and the Avenging Sentinel

#### by Darklady

  
  
Thanks to Lit Gal, who is very nice about sharing her toys.  
  
This story is an Intersection fic with Lit Gal's Control Issues

* * *

Judge Roy Bean & the Avenging Sentinel

by Darklady

Disclaimer: Not only don't I own the 'Sentinel' TV show, I don't even lay claim to this fanish derivation of it. This is LitGal's universe. I'm just coming over to kick the sand in her sandbox.

Fandom: The Sentinel - TV show. Beyond that, Lit Gal's ControlUniverse! - somewhere after the s-x and before the graduation. (Non cannon for her fanon)

Pairing: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg. ( also Blair Sandburg/Jim Ellison _grin_ )

Rated: Teener-teener-teener. Anyone past their teens.

Warning: Slash Universe No p0rn, but.... if your virgin eyes can't handle two men kissing???

Archive: Here, of course. Elsewhere? Why would you want to? But if you do, it would require permission from both myself AND LitGal. For myself, I've likely got no objection, but I can't speak for her. Please ask.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Two men sat in a glass walled room. It was past sunset, late even in these fall days with winter in the air, and most of the office workers had finished hours past. The brightest light was an antique desk lamp. echoed by the monitor glow behind them and the reflections from the freeway below.

The older man stared down at those lights. "You can't subpoena a Sentinel! It would be like calling a five year old."

"I could call a five year old" the younger answered calmly. "Besides, it's not a summons. It's a request to cooperate in identifying a person of interest."

"Who is appealing a conviction for weapons violations, domestic terrorism, and multiple murder."

"Thus our interest."

"You have any interest in your career? Because if you try and put up Sentinel evidence without Forensic..." Fuck-all. That went without saying. Lifting the Bourbon from its hiding place, he filled two glasses and passed one over.

"I'm not asking for Sentinel evidence. Hillman was three feet away from this Ellison guy when the first bursts went off. You don't need to be a Sentinel to see a guy on a bench."

"But he _is_ a Sentinel."

"But he wasn't then. He was a commuter." The younger man leaned back, eyes on the gold reflections in his hand. "Plus I'm not asking him to talk about the attack. I'm just asking the judge to let him come in, look at the guy, and say 'that's him'. Or not. No pressure. But we both know the bastard's guilty so..."

"So you put an injured Sentinel in the room with Mr. Guilty and so he gets his head ripped off when your 'witness' goes PTSD. Great idea. Save the State ten's of millions on trial fees. Oh wait - it won't. Because I'll be defending _you_ from every tort law ever written."

"He'll be with his guardian."

"Bingo." Liquor burn turned the voice harsh. "You put a known mass murderer right next to a _guardian_. That's not going to cause any Sentinel distress."

"Do I look that stupid?"

"Looks are deceiving. In your case, I'd have to say yes."

"Bob. Trust me here. I'm desperate."

The proceedings from the first trial had 'gone missing'. Video depositions had been 'accidentally' deleted. A 'suspicious' fire had taken out Houston evidence storage, and with it most of the hard evidence against the 'bagman'. Convenient car crashes had removed the two main witnesses. The man's automatic death penalty appeal was two months from dismissal. The outcome had gone from forgone to forlorn. Desperate was an understatement.

"You're deluded."

Rising from his seat, the younger man rested his drink on the one clear corner of the huge oak desk. "I've already had a word with the judge. We can use courtroom twelve, with the same video setup they use in violent pedophile cases. Ellison goes into chambers, we lock the door, he sees the courtroom only on the monitor. The other TV goes by the jury box. Questions go from a special court reporter to the social worker. She reads them. Ellison answers. The reporter in the room sends the answer back to the court record."

Bob rubbed his chin. "Sight only? No sound, no smell?"

"And a SI officer with trank gun outside the door." Joe pressed. "Just in case."

"OK." The older man leaned on one rope-callused hand, the other scrawling his name across the stacked papers. "You can try. But if this goes south, you better be running flat out to keep ahead of the shit-storm."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Thanks. Great flight." Blair Sandburg shook hands with the flight engineer.

It had been. Normally, Sentinels took to air travel like a cat to water. (Which is to say - with much howling and hissing and ruffling of fur.) But that was _commercial_ air travel. Given the high profile of the case? The Governor had dispatched ..? Well, the pilot had proudly announced it as an 'official combat craft of the Texas Air Force'. To Blair the restored C-47 looked like a flying condo.

The pilot had also introduced himself as a Colonel in said Texas Air Force. He looked to Blair like a sixty-something farmer in Stetson and jeans. Not the man you would trust with 91 tons of potentially armed steel, even if he owned it. None of which Blair had expressed - even mentally - since the second the guy had swapped salutes with Jim and invited him up to sit co-pilot.

"You do us proud, now, Captain Ellison. And you keep an eye on the kid."

For once, that was instruction for Jim - with the caution aimed for Blair. Flip side of the usual response. But then, this was Texas and he had been informed in the first minutes of flight that everything was different in Texas.

"It's been an honor flying with you, sir" Jim answered.

They were doing that snap and stomp ritual again as the stairs rolled up. Hobby International was one of the old in-city airports, and only the few commercial flights got corridor berths. Civil aviation folks walked from their plane to their cars. Or in this case... truck.

A crewcab pickup was waiting just behind the guy with the orange cones. Big and blue, and... OK.... it was missing the cow horns on the hood. But other than that? From the carved walnut gun rack in the rear window to the gray mountains blanket over the seat.... Blair could hear the Marlboro theme playing.

Almost as clearly as he could see the lust in Jim's eyes.

The 'Colonel' must have spotted that too.

Keys flashed though the air.

"You'all wanna drive?"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

They followed the GPS voice though the riot of Houston freeways.

"Evening." The Colonel smiled as Jim eased the truck into a row of semi's. "Quiet time. Oughta see it in the morning."

Right! Jim thought, bringing all his skill to dodging a VW van stacked with boxes. Not the time to even _think_ of adding to his crash-and-crumple record. If it was like this now? Even with Sentinel driving, he wasn't sure the 610 loop would be survivable at rush hour.

Time and turns and the truck - passengers still breathing - end up in a more residential area. Still very downtown, as Jim could spot skyscrapers over the tops of the oleanders, but said oleanders stood tall behind the brick fences of three-story mansions.

"I thought we were..." Headed for the institute, was the unspoken finish. Jim hated the words almost as much as he hated the idea, but he hadn't fooled himself. This wasn't a camping trip with Simon and the guys. At best, he had hoped for one of the visitors apartments where he could be with Blair - and unchained - while he waited. At worst? Well, he'd survived the worst, and he could handle it again if - when - duty demanded.

"Nah." Their host waved off the suggestion. "Too long a commute. Plus there's some folk as might have opinions out there. Better to put you'all up at tha' Hogg house."

"Hog house?" Blair leaned over the seat. Jim could smell the concern. For all his complaints that Sentinels were treated like animals.... they couldn't have....

"Home of Governor James Stephen Hogg, first born'd Texan elected Governor of Texas." The man pointed proudly to a plaque hanging beside one open gate. "Miss Ima Hogg left it to the University of Houston. They mostly use it for visiting teachers."

Blair blinked at that. Visiting teachers - right. If by teacher you mean world-famous and well-connected scholars flying in to give donation inducing speeches. Not exactly student housing for ABD's.

But the gate was open, and nobody came out to protest when Jim pulled up under the carport.

"Hadda word with a few folks, and seeing how you'se was coming down to do us this little favor..." The Colonel jumped out, heading for the luggage in the truck bed. "Least we could offer you was a soft bunk."

Jim hurried back to help him.

Blair tried the door. It opened. Either they were expected, or the two of them were going to enjoy their first court visit in Texas from the _inside_. As trespassers.

No sooner were they unloaded than a long black Lincoln pulled up behind them. The driver stepped out, held the passenger door, and nodded at the old man who had brought them this far.

"You'all just keep that truck." The Colonel grinned as he got in. "I've got plenty more."

Jim starred in astonishment at the thinning dust tracks. "They can't all be like that."

"Jim. They can't any of them be like that."

"Man's sincere." Jim lifted his suitcase. "Strange but.... sincere."

"Or he can obfuscate better then I can."

"Blair. Nobody can twist the truth like you can."

Blair found his backpack and headed for the door. "Thank you. I think."

Inside, a grim-faced man in a western shirt and string tie was waiting. "Detective Sandburg, Mr. Ellison?"

"I'm Sandburg." As if you didn't know. Silver collars weren't exactly invisible.

"Lt. Woodford Travis Borger, Texas Rangers." The man held up his badge. "Regulations provide for the presence of an SI officer, peace officer, or social worker any time a Sentinel is brought into the state by court order."

"So. One Sentinel, One Ranger?"

The man didn't get the joke - or didn't like it. "Sentinel Jim Ellison is the only surviving witness from car seven. The only one who can place Hillman behind a gun. Therefore. " The man's strict expression broke, and suddenly he was handsome. "My orders are to fetch and carry and get you any damn thing you want as long as it gets you into that courtroom tomorrow."

Blair's thoughts spun. Either this is some strange alternate Universe SI or...

The man must have read his expression. "This is a very... deeply felt... case, Detective. If the D.A. drops the ball now? He's gonna WISH some crazed Sentinel had off'd him."

"And you are supposed to make sure that doesn't happen?"

"I'm a Texas Ranger, Mr. Sandburg. If a man's up to get lynched? Save him or string him, it's my duty to get to him first."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Thirty minutes to settle in to the master bedroom. Shower, shave, and head down for dinner.

Blair picked at his potatoes. Dinner was from the SI cookbook, which meant steamed veggies and broiled white meat. But, this being Texas, Woody had brought along his little bottle of Tabasco sauce. Tongue burner. Blair tried one drop. Jim had ten. What can you say? Live in South America, you learn to cherish the jalapeno. And the habanero. And the rocotillo.

Woody was actually not such a bad guy, Blair decided. For a glorified traffic cop, at least. He liked Jim. And Jim liked him. Which was setting Blair's Guide-dar off. Fortunately, he'd learned to control the green-eyed beast ( if not always the one-eyed snake). Besides which, Blair reminded his Id, Jim would be sleeping with him tonight. They would get a chance to test if those 19th century feather beds were as soft as the books implied. So for the moment he was content to watch the fireplace and sip his beer.

Woody had racked up big points by passing Jim the first bottle - and by not looking to Blair for permission. Although, Blair cautioned himself, this might be less political sympathy and more that Texans apparently viewed Coors as a form of soda pop. Still, a respected Jim was a happy Jim. A happy Jim was a horny Jim. A horny Jim made for a happy Blair. Karma danced in the circle. It was all good.

Just as he'd come to the bottom of the bottle, and to the contemplation of an early night and a test of those bedposts....

The side door slammed open.

"Detective Sandburg, there's been a..." the invader started. Blair recognized him from his picture. Joe Davies. The guy from the D.A.'s office. The one that started this whole dance. Only, unlike the photo, this guy didn't look like Rafes fashion consultant. His tie was macram,, and if that was silk suit? Well, all Blair could think was that a lot of worms had died in vain.

"Why are you talking to him?" Jim asked.

A damn good question, Blair thought. This is one case where the guardian _could't_ testify. Blair wasn't there, he hadn't seen, and frankly Jim hadn't even told him or Stoddard all that much about it. If there was a loop - Blair was _way_ out.

"Se.... Mr. Ellison. A pleasure." It clearly wasn't, but Blair didn't think that was because of Jim being... who Jim was. The man's handshake was distracted, not unwilling. "We may have to delay the testimony."

"We have jobs." Because while this was Jim's game, and Blair was happy to let him call the plays, he was going to get majorly UNhappy if this guy tried to play Jim.

"I appreciate that but..." The young lawyer collapsed onto the sofa. "Defense council had agreed to the conditions of testimony. At least I thought we had an agreement. But..." He slumped, head in hand. "But last night that bastard Berkowitz filed a complaint with superior court."

"Why?"

"Because they want a dismissal. That's the why."

Blair suddenly knew how his less talented students felt. He made a instant pledge to be kinder on his grade notes.

"But if you mean what was the pretext?" the lawyer continued. "Defense is insisting on Hillman's right to face his accuser. Bastard's demanding direct cross in open court. We will appeal, of course, but this is the last week of session and State Supreme court docket is past full. If we don't get an answer this session..." The man clawed at this thick black hair. "We need a judgment this week. Otherwise we will run past the court date. Hillman will lose his constitutionally mandated speedy trial, the judge will have to dismiss and...."

"No." Jim tried again. "I meant why appeal?"

"Because if we don't get this overturned the court will require you to testify from the witness box. Directly in front of the jury. Five feet from Hillman."

"So?" Jim shrugged. "I go in. I sit in the chair. I answer the same questions you would have asked anyway. I point to Hillman. The jury sees that. I go home. He goes to hell. Not a problem."

"And the defense attorney in your face? That wouldn't be a problem?"

"I've had drill Sergeants yelling in my face. Close enough to feel the spittle. If that had been a problem for me? Let's just say that the Sarge would have made it my _serious_ problem. Some guy with a Harvard drawl and a shark suit? Not a problem."

"And Hillman? The man who gassed you? Who killed those people right in front of you? Sitting three steps away? You're not going to be tempted to break his neck?"

"Not a chance." Jim saluted the man with the last inch of his beer. "Texas is a hanging state. That's your job."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Short night. Long morning.

The conference had gone on ( and on and on and on ) until Jim had called a halt to things around two. Once they'd finally made it up to the big bed ( which had been, Blair noted, every bit as warm and cloud-soft as legend foretold ) there had barely been time for a kiss and a promise. Well, hand job, kiss, and promise. Jim's promise to seriously ride him over the antique saddle bench in the day room. Quite the fantasy. Blair's last thought before nodding off had been to wonder just where one could buy a cowboy hat and chaps.

Now Blair wondered if they were riding into the sunset - or disaster.

Court bailiff wanted Jim in chains. Procedure. Davies was loudly 'fuck that' because Jim in chains - looking untrusted - was just what the defense wanted. After the way they'd played? He'd made it more than clear that his office wouldn't piss on the Defense team if they were burning. Blair knew he was even more 'fuck that' than Davies because.... Jim did not deserve the hassle. He had come here in good faith under the terms _they_ proposed, and for the court to change things now? Blair was inches from calling a judge. And he didn't mean Judge Judy. Jim? Jim was half an inch from telling the whole bunch to go fuck. Not that anyone except Blair could read that. Jim was using his 'resist/evade/escape' face. But he could have screamed it and he was still would have been calmest one in the room.

Blair cut though the crowd. Not to say anything. There were enough words - most of them at excess volume. Blair just straightened Jim's tie.

Jim tugged Blair's curls and sent him off again.

That was OK. Blair told himself. Message sent and received. Jim knows I've got his back. He knows he matters more than the good fight. But he also knows that together we can make this one hell of a good fight.

Blair watched with pride as Jim went face to face with the crew, calmly making it clear that he would walk into that courtroom in a blue suit - nothing added - or he would not set foot in court at all.

Jim vs. the world.

Blair's money was on Jim.

Like always.

And... Blair grinned. He had a plan.

Like always.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Yada yada. Defense was on its umpteenth question, trying to pin down exactly how many tickets had been sold to passengers that fatal morning. Jim tried not to zone on the drone. Even if this was the most world shakingly important court case of his life? It still sounded like every other morning he'd had to sit through waiting for Blair to go up and do his fifteen minutes of pain.

The prosecution had intentionally called the lesser witnesses first. Mostly to run out the clock. Now they were up against the lunch break.

"Prosecution calls Mr. James Ellison."

"Objection!" A fat man in a Hollywood-rumpled suit burst to his feet. "Your honor. My client can not be in the same room as a Sentinel who has suffered..."

From the defense table, Davies snapped back. "Is your client confessing?"

Defense ignored him. "... so many prejudicial stories. It is well known that a mad Sentinel is..."

"... Sitting right behind you," Jim reached out - as if to tap his shoulder, "where I have been for the last four hours."

While the man was still off balance, Jim stepped calmly out from the public seats.

"Ellison here as summoned, your honor." He turned to the bailiff. "I believe you're supposed to swear me in?"

As it turned out, the judge took over the oath part, shifting to the simplified version used for small children.

Did Jim know the difference between the truth and a lie?

He did.

Would Jim tell the truth?

He would.

After that the questions were short and simple.

Had Jim been on the train that day? Had Jim been in car seven? Was there a man in that car holding a large brown box? Where was he seated? Near you? Could you see his face? Is that man in the courtroom? Can you point to that man now?

The only thing that even came _close_ to sending Jim over the edge was the Lambchop accent of the social worker chosen to read the written questions to Jim after they had been approved by both Blair-as-guardian and the judge. Not that Blair was bothering to read them, and not that Jim couldn't have recited them from the night before, but procedure was procedure.

He focused on keeping his voice steady and his answers clear. That - and not laughing. For all of the kindergarten atmosphere, this was important. Important to justice, and important when it came to justice for Sentinels. If either failed? Well, it wouldn't be due to Jim.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Someone (Blair guessed the assigned social worker that none of them had actually _met_ ) had arranged for box lunches in the court clerk's office. Tuna on white and Avian. Worked for Blair. This was the justice building. If everyone else had to choke down the same bland 'Sentinel Safe' chow as Jim? Call it cosmic justice.

"Great job, Ellison!" The D.A. - or at least his suit - had recovered from the previous nights disaster. You could have shaved with his lapels and used his smile as a mirror. The man was looking that sharp. "Love the way you faced those questions!"

Jim wondered if the man had any idea how insulting he was being. Compared to facing - say - a few hundred insurgents armed with Kalashnikovs ? Even a few dozen tribesmen armed with arrows?

"You did good, Jim." From Blair the words meant something else entirely, something Jim could cherish.

"This was the easy part. We were pushing the judge to let you testify, so we had to keep it sweet and simple. The defense? Well, Berkowitz is a bastard's bastard, so don't let the white-haired professor act fool you. The SOB is one mean SOB. And after this mornings performance? He's gotta try and push you over the edge. Discredit you. So it's not gonna be simple, and it's for damn sure not gonna be sweet.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Berkowitz came across like Santa Claus - provided Old Nick had taken up arms for the Grinch.

They started with the usual question. Was Jim here of his own free will?

He'd been asked, but no one had forced him so... "Yes."

Had anyone told him what to say?

Not in so many words so... "No."

How long had he been on the road - a runner - before that day in Texas?

"Two months, sixteen days." Jim knew the hours, but it would have sounded smart-assed so....

Had he been bonded?

Not then, so... "No."

Had he ever been bonded?

He was now. To Blair. But that wasn't what they were asking. Jim steadied himself on his Guides's heartbeat. "I was bonded. To Incacha. In Peru. The bond was broken before I came back to the States."

Berkowitz smiled like a shark. All edge and teeth.

"The train. That must have been a terrible situation. For anyone, of course, but how much more, I ask, for an untrained, unbonded, fugitive Sentinel. One still in stress psychosis from a broken bond and on the run from the very law that today he has been forced here to serve..."

"Question? Or is the defense choosing to address the jury?"

"Your honor. Defense must now ask for the exclusion of this witness. How could such a damaged Sentinel testify with any certainly that it was any one man - this man - my client - that he saw though that cloud of smoke and choking gas."

Jim had had enough of the Inquisition rules.

He faced the Berk face-on. "I could hand you my Institute scores. Not that it would matter."

"It... wouldn't matter?" Shock threw the defense attorney off his game. Only for half a sentence, before the man caught himself and turned his words back towards the bench. Jim didn't care. He knew he had the bastard. "Wouldn't matter that every single person there - even a Sentinel - especially a Sentinel - would have been helplessly blind the moment those gas grenades went off?"

"Nope." Jim was answering now - even if he hadn't strictly speaking been asked. " Because I didn't testify that I saw him though the gas."

"You're saying now that my client wasn't there? Wasn't seen?" And to hell with court rules. Jim caught the black glimmer of hope in the barracuda's eyes as the defense lawyer slid his words into Jim's mouth. Because if a Sentinel said that he hadn't seen the man there....

"No. He was there. And I did see him. But that wasn't what I testified to, because that wasn't the question I was asked."

"Your honor!" Berkowitz yelped.

"Just trying to answer, judge."

At the other table, the D.A. eased to his feet. "Your honor, Detective Ellison's comments are well within the response standards for a special witness. Of course, if the defense would prefer to drop those protective stipulations? The State would welcome..."

"I'm sure you would," the judge muttered. He turned to the court reporter. "Strike that last comment. Also mine. Jury is reminded to focus only on the factual statements, not on the.... humor... of the witness."

"Your honor?" The D.A. spoke again. "As the defense has chosen to ask..."

"Very well." The judge drew a deep breath. "Sentinel Ellison. Since you have started you may proceed. Please be succinct, and in the future answer only those questions the court addresses to you.

Jim nodded at his social worker. The one he had mentally named Shari.

"The lady there asked if I could remember the man in seat three. I could - and can. She asked if I could point out that man. I did." Jim pointed again to the man in the front row. "She asked if that man was holding a large brown box. He was. She asked if that box held a gun. It did."

"After that?" Jim smiled sweetly. "According to the court rules? I don't have a thing to say."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Great work people!"

"The judge is purple!" One of the junior attorneys. A flat faced young man with a bad tie. Blair hadn't met him before today, and if anyone had mentioned the man's name? Well, in the crush he wouldn't have remembered it anyway.

"Forget the judge. The jury is in love." A pretty redhead leaned into the room. The jury consultant. She reminded Blair of Naomi's evil twin. At least what it would look like if his mom _had_ an evil twin. Which would - now that Blair thought about it - explain a lot about his childhood.

Court security had quickly ushered them all back to the office that was serving as Jim's Sentinel-safe zone. Although safe for whom - and from whom? Good question. Blair wasn't sure he shouldn't try to find a nice padded cell - and lock _himself_ in it. With or without Jim.

"Defense can still..."

"Defense can kiss my bonnie blue behind." The prosecutor grabbed the girl and waltzed her around the room. "We had an agreement on witness protocol. Ellison here stepped up to that line. Hell, he danced a jig on it. But he never set a toe over."

"The judge cut..." Junior bad tie pushed.

"Who gives a rats ass!" He was cut off with that lethal finality only women who wield beauty like a weapon can manage. "No Texas juror is gonna let some New Yorker tell 'im what he's allowed to remember."

"I tell you, people, this is GOLDEN! Defense can take their beating... or they can stipulate to the witness and bring back Ellison for unrestricted cross. And _really_ take a beating." Joe Davies sounded satisfied. Make that - post orgasmic. "God, there are days I love being a Texan."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Just a few friends..." their pilot friend had promised when he'd caught them on the courthouse steps with an invitation to dinner.

Sure! A few friends and a hundred influential acquaintances. Unless the man really did consider both houses of legislature to be the 'house next door'.

Blair took in the teeming estate. Not a classic mansion like the University President's house in Rainer, this was more a rancho on steroids. Mated with Mediterranean hooker. One flat story, linked by spans of Spanish tile and Ramada roofing, any section of which could have passed for suburban normal. Except, to be normal this house would have to be sliced into an entire suburb. Outside, oil rigs and endangered zebras showed lines against the pink skyline. Inside? The theme was people in tan and black and brown.

Normally a mob of strangers would have had Blair on edge, even though he KNEW 'his mom's friend Jim' could handle crowds. That didn't mean he liked them. Jim was more the poker-in-the-loft sort. This party? Apparently Jim was in his newfound element. He'd picked up four blondes and a steak, and from Blair's perspective they all looked pretty tender.

Blair lifted his own plate. Hand made tortillas wrapped around a carne asada guaranteed grass fed and more free-range than a commune chicken. Pesticide free, steroid free, and .... ummm... just enough green chili sauce. A feast certified to turn Gandhi carnivore.

Blair paused to bite, and found himself holding yet another chilled beer.

"Colonel!"

"How are you finding our little town, Detective Sandburg?"

"Extremely generous." Suspiciously so.

"Just Lone Star hospitality, son."

"You have a very... big... hospitality." Leading Blair to wonder at the size of favors expected in return.

"Everything's bigger in Texas."

Including, apparently, the scam someone was trying to pull. Even if he couldn't spot the angle, Blair could recognize the approach. Lots of rich people wanted to stay on the good side of Sentinels. Some for the safety of a Sentinel bodyguard. Some for simple prestige. Some because they hoped that a befriended Sentinel would overlook the occasional sniff of... shall we call it garden hemp?... or any other indiscretion better left unperceived. Once Jim had made contact with his father's law firm, quite a few of the senior Ellison's friends had offered the sort of gifts that skated the edge of bribery.

"Come to the study." The older man trapped Blair's jacket sleeve in his powerful grip. "I've got a Texas-sized bottle of Scotch."

He closed the walnut double doors behind them.

"Seriously, Detective Sandburg? I didn't want to say anything around the Captain. Can't influence a witness and all that. But now that we're out of earshot...?"

You think! Blair snarked mentally. But it was a safe enough assumption. Most SI trained Sentinels couldn't have made out two quiet voices though the book covered walls and over the scatter of party noise. Jim could, but their host wouldn't learn that unless he gave Jim reason.

"A'yeah." The man picked up two water glasses, filling them to the brim. "I got a big house. I got a big truck." Passing one glass to Blair, he took a deep swig from this other " Thing is? I used to have a little granddaughter. Until one day she and her friends decided to take the train downtown."

The man raised a silent toast to an oil portrait on the wall. Three brunets in stair step. Wife, daughter, granddaughter?

"Six little girls. Your friend there got four of them off. My Mindy Sue? Well, at least we got to bury her. That... I'm right thankful for."

"Oh lord." Blair choked on his words. "I'm so sorry."

He was. Truly repentant. Because here he'd been focused on what the man had and...

The old man patted Blair's shoulder. "You ain't got no blame. It's that son of a bitch Hillman that's sorry. And I'm set ta move heaven, hell, and the Texas Legislature to see his sorry ass fry."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Ranger Woody wasn't there when they got back to the Hogg house - but a manilla envelope was.

Jim broke the seal and pulled out the court documents. "YES!"

Blair felt the air crushed out of his lungs. He wasn't a light man, but he was several inches shorter than Jim. (Or, as Blair preferred to phrase it, Jim was several inches taller than normal.) All of which meant that Jim _could_ in fact pick his partner up and spin him around. He just couldn't do it without risking a rib or two.

"Christ Jim."

"They've accepted me!" Jim shot a fist into the air. "Full, adult, unrestricted witness. Yes!"

Blair snatched the papers. "They want you tomorrow."

"T'was a great victory." Jim quoted.

And... "another victory like that will undo us." Blair quoted back. "I think that was Pyrrhus." Classics he had studied, but it wasn't his focus.

"Something like, but this isn't." Jim settled at the table. "Look Blair. All I have to do is sit in the chair, answer the questions, and _NOT_ kill a slime bag shyster. Or the shyster's slime bag. Either way, stuff I manage back in Cascade every day."

"With me with you." And whatever Jim wanted to believe, Blair knew there was such a thing as Sentinel rage. Which Jim didn't show - so far - but if watching someone slaughter babies right in front of your eyes didn't bring it on? Blair was certain that would kick in _Naomi's_ killer instincts, and she was six times the pacifist her son was. For Jim, who had no real _objection_ to breaking the necks of those folks who's necks needed breaking?

"You'll be with me Blair." Jim tapped his chest. "Here. Where it counts."

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Four hours later. Blair's eyes were sanded like the I-5 in December, but together they had read though the trial procedures. Jim was prepared. Not perfectly, but as well as Blair could manage all things considered. His back ached and... was that his stomach growling?

Jim must have heard it. "Wanna drive out? Grab some burgers?"

"After tonight's dinner?" Blair considered. He _could_ eat but... "If I never see another cow again..."

"Don't look at the rug, Chief."

Right. Or the couch. Or the wallpaper. This house was _wrapped_ in cowhide. About as thoroughly as an actual cow.

"How about pizza?" Blair suggested. "We can get delivery,and then catch a few hours bed time." Which Jim would need. Bad enough what he was facing. He shouldn't face it on nothing but power naps.

Jim set down the keys. "Must be all those years of education, nearly-Doctor Sandburg. You have the best ideas."

Blair flipped open his cell phone. "411? Where is the nearest Pizza Hut?"

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Ten minutes later a man was standing at their front door, flat box in hand.

"Thanks man." Blair held out twenty. "Keep the change."

The man snatched up the bill, and Jim grabbed for the box. "Think they remembered the extra cheese?"

Blair laughed. "You're the great all- sensing Sentinel. Take a whiff and you tell me."

Jim pressed his nose to the crack, pulling the rising steam into his lungs.

**"* _GAHGH_ *"**

The box hit the floor. Jim staggered after it.

"Jim!" Blair grabbed one flailing arm. "Jim, what is it!"

"The pizza!"

He shouldn't react to pepperoni. Not like that. Even if some idiot had sprinkled on red pepper flakes or... whatever.... it still? Blair reached for the box.

"No!" Jim gasped. "Don't touch it! Drugged."

"Oh my god. What?" What could he do? Where was his medical kit? Which local emergency room could be trusted with a reacting Sentinel? What was the local SI number? Why hadn't he memorized it before they came here?

"I'll be OK. Just let me rest a bit." Jim pushed himself across the floor until his back bumped the sofa. "I was dizzy, but I think it's passing. Some water?"

Blair jumped up. "Coming!" He'd get that and a cold cloth for Jim's forehead and maybe - just maybe - that would buy enough time to... Rushing back, Blair wrapped the towel gently around Jim's forehead.

"Thanks. That helps."

Blair held the cup to Jim's lips. "Just a sip."

"Gee doctor, I think I know how to feed myself."

"Better than I do." Blair agreed. "I'm the idiot that tried to feed you poisoned pizza." Even so, he kept a hand on the cup. Jim was capable, yes, but that didn't mean he needed a damp shirt in addition everything else.

"Not your fault." Jim shifted deeper into Blair's embrace. "This was a deliberate attack. Someone must have been watching the house and picked up the cell signal. All they had to do was call in their own order, get it here first, and switch their own man for the restaurant driver."

OK, Blair thought. That made sense. In a freaky, twisted, it-could-only-happen-to-us sort of way.

"It's my fault." Jim continued. "I should have spotted the fake."

"How?"

"He didn't smell Italian."

"Jim!"

"He didn't smell _of_ Italian." Jim explained. "No oregano, no basil."

"Oh."

"I could kick myself. If I'd noticed sooner I could have tackled the guy and he might have named some of the other members of the conspiracy." Because five men did not a terrorist group make. A cell, yes, but only a cell. If all the conspirators had been captured that day, there would have been several less auto fatalities and Houston would still have one more civic building.

"Not your job, Jim. Not down here." It was Blair's job, though. His responsibility to keep Jim safe from the downside of his senses. Instead, he's literally opened the door to Jim's would-be assassin. Some Guide he had turned out to be.

"Help me up." Jim held out an arm. "I think the dizziness has passed. A few aspirin for the headache and..." as he spoke, Jim slid the towel from his eyes. "Oh crap!"

"Jim?"

"Christ. Blair... I'm.... blind."

"I'll call the..."

"No!" Jim caught his hand before Blair could touch the table phone. "That's what they want. Poor widdle sentinel stressed into psychosis. Pull me now and you might as well lock a chain around my balls. Permanently."

"So we...?"

"So _we_ do nothing. This will pass."

"Jim?"

"It will pass. This has happened before. I think it's some sort of protective response. Something to keep the light input from overwhelming me while my irises aren't responding. I get a night's sleep and come morning the eyes will be back on line."

Blair blinked at the detached tone. "How...?"

"You think they didn't have cocaine in Peru?"

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Brave words, but come morning? It was past breakfast, Woody and company were on their way, and Jim? Jim still couldn't see more than a few rainbow blurs. Blair hated the thought of calling the Institute and costing Jim the little progress that he had paid so much for, but if his lover's health was at risk...?

"What do we do now?" Blair asked.

" _I_ go ahead and testify."

"Blind?"

"They aren't going to ask me the color of Hillman's tie." Jim took his partner's hand. "I've had a pretty good sniff at the courtroom. I can navigate by that and by sound. Plus, you can," Jim mouthed silently, miming subvocalization, "if I start to go off course. Sort of like your own radio controlled Jim doll."

Right. Sure. And then they would all go to Disneyland. But Blair knew that, however bravely Jim could surmount the loss of his vision, he would never survive the loss of Blair's confidence in him. So time to match Jim's courage with his own.

Blair stretched up, brushing a kiss across those firm-set lips. "Sex doll, I hope?"

They didn't part until Blair heard Woody's knock on the door. " You two ready?"

Suddenly, Blair was glad that the Ranger had insists on driving them. They couldn't change their habits today, couldn't give the criminal slime any clue their trick had succeeded. Because like Jim Blair knew it was Hillman's 'friends' behind this attack, and that they knew how to take out a Sentinel, and that they were going to be out there looking for any hint that they succeeded. He knew that like he knew that Jim would die before giving them the satisfaction.

"Here goes..." Jim halted. It wasn't nothing. "Everything."

"Jim?" Blair kissed him again. "I just want you to know I love you, I'm proud of you, and... He leaned forward, lips a micron from Jim's ear. "I've got the Colonel's plane fueled and waiting. Odure into arieator? He promises we can be over the border in an hour, and in the Cayman's before nightfall."

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Jim was still under oath, which vaguely sucked since this time they would have had to use the adult version. Still, he didn't feel any great need to be seen groping around for a Bible he was supposed to be able to see so.... he took his chair without comment. The thousands of feet that had traced this same route daily for years made a clear path, and the slight hollow where anxious fingers had gripped the front rail of the jury box let him find the chair behind it.

Blair smiled. Jim looked cautious, but not clumsy, and caution was a reasonable thing for a Sentinel facing what was ahead. A Sentinel, or any man.

Once the formalities were past, court time was the same. Just more so.

Lots more questions. This time Berkowitz and his team took Jim though the whole story. Bullets, bombs, blood, gas, dead babies. Every reason, Blair whispered under his breath, for Jim's eyes to water.

They got one lucky break two hours in. The judge called a recess when one juror burst into open sobs. Five blessed minutes when Blair could hold Jim before the defense restarted its attack. And it was an attack.

Berk the bastard was ruthless. He knew he didn't stand a chance to persuade. The jury had hated his client coming in, and now they hated his lawyer more. The only chance left was to destroy the witness as his cohorts had destroyed the evidence. To destroy Jim.

"You actually," he sneered, "expect us to believe that with your special magic voodoo powers - magic powers possessed by no other Sentinel on record - you could miraculously run _into_ a cloud of gas? Run in, keep your feet, keep _talking_....?"

"If you'd like a test?" Stoddard had wondered if this question might be coming. Some milder form, at least. The three of them had spent two weekends in the Rainier University wind tunnel, charting Jim's perception through differing levels of smoke.

"I think I will." Berkowitz whipped out his key chain, with the tiny cylinder of mugger mace that he had slid past court security. Before the bailiff could move, he discharged it all inches from Jim Ellison's face.

The jury gasped.

Likewise the judge.

Jim gripped the witness box rail, struggling for balance, fighting the zone. Cut off smell. Zero it out. Taste too. Touch? His skin _burned_. Vision was still gone, and that left... sound. His own panicked heart. The defense lawyers breathing, smug and satisfied. And... Blair. Blair's voice going "Jim. I love you Jim. I believe in you. Jim."

You can make it though this, Jim told himself. Take a deep breath and... No! Don't breath. Poison. But straighten and smile and use the breath you have left for one last... "Capsicum. Five thousand Scoville units, at least." Jim shifted towards where he could hear the judge trying to catch his breath. That looked confident, and it gave Jim a chance at cleaner air. "I'm fairly sure that's over the federal limit, your honor."

"You." The judge sputtered, shaking the bitter burn from his lips. 'You can smell that?"

"I'm honesty trying not to, your honor."

"Cadaverine." Jim continued. "Thiols and thioacetates. Fortunately in trace amounts. Formalin. Maybe five percent. Annoying, but not half as bad as the cheap after shave mixed with it. Oh. My error." Jim turned back to the defense side. "That wasn't in the canned mix. That's just you."

From his side of the courtroom, Blair watched as juror after juror collapsed in hysterical laughter.

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Jim paused on the court steps. Well, was blocked would be more accurate description. It would have taken an icebreaker scaled to the Titanic to cut though the sea of photogs. Lucky Jim's vision was still out - or the flashes might have blinded him.

Jim had been popular before, when Blair had joked about Houston giving him a parade. Now? Now they were all but lining up the marching bands. Behind the press flocked thousands of just-plain-people, many with flags or homemade signs cheering the 'Houston Avenger'. The 'Avenging Sentinel".

Although? Technically, Jim had intervened _during_ the crime, not after, so it couldn't strictly speaking be considered vengeance. And Blair had been spending too much time with his dictionary. He sent up a quick prayer to any passing deity. No more disasters just now. No crime. No punishment. Please? Just a few more weeks and fifty more pages and... he would _so_ be done with Rainier.

Blair gave Jim's arm a quick squeeze and slid back. It wasn't some fuzzy haired scholastic the public had come to see.

Jim took the cue, leaning lightly towards the pretty blonde on his left. The Colonel's second ex-wife, and fascinated by Sentinels. Serving now as guide dog. Appropriate, as she was one world-class bitch. Blair was considering introducing her to Alex Barnes. Cruel, yes... but Alex didn't deserve better. Besides, Blair's latest application for grant funding was based on rehabilitating resistant Sentinels. No matter how vicious, what was the chance Alex would work for years to steal a few million when she could whine and bitch her way to billions?

Jim rested one hand on his 'hostesses' elbow. The other he raised in a wave.

The judge was out now, posing beside Jim. The Lieutenant Governor pressed Jim's other side. Blair made a mental note. Texas. Elected office. Favors that they could maybe call in.

Behind them, suits in _suits_ pressed closer. The upper offices were emptying out, joining the power players who had been in the courtroom audience. Blair found himself pushed back into the excess elite.

A sad-faced man passed him a card. "I've got a couple of oil rigs in Northern Alaska. Right up by the coast. Any time you think you might like a... change of scenery?"

Blair, with some shock, recognized the man. Retired politician. Father of a... probably soon to be retired politician. Two more sons and a grandson in the pipeline. Dynasty with more reruns than Bonanza. Normally a name on Blair's mental list of spit-before-speaking but... that was before Blair thought he'd get a chance to speak to the man. Now? Blair pulled up a smile. The one he used to use on coeds.

"Thank you, sir. But we were hoping for a fresh look right here at home."

The man shook his hand. "I think you've got us all seeing things with new eyes."

"Detective Sandburg. Love your work." A hard-eyed woman in a soft pink suit cut in. "If you're ever in the _other_ Washington? Do call. I say my office is always open but in your case?" She gave him the smirk that coeds had used when short of a better Friday night attachment. "Just because a politician says it? It's not always a lie."

Crap. Blair swore silently. One party. Two party. Red party. Blue party. It was like Dr. Seuss by way of Leviathan.

Blair slid up to the Mayor of Houston, who had been displaced by some other politico Blair didn't recognize from the rear. "Thank you, sir. It's kind of you to offer us your plane for the ride back." Which the man's assistant had - on their way out. "We do need to get home soon."

"After all our boy Ellison's done for us?" The man nodded at a reporter over Blair's shoulder. "The least the city could do."

The Colonel grinned, not at all put out by being - literally - put out. "Ya'all just leave the keys in the cab. I'll send one of the hands to move it on." He steered Blair away from the political horde. "Gotta tell you. You boys set some of these good ol' ranchers back some when you first came... but now I'm gonna be the first to say that was one HELL of a stand up job. You ever got anything - and I mean ANYTHING - that I can do for you? Don't hesitate to ask. In fact - heck - you boys ain't gonna even need to ASK. Cause I'm gonna be looking first.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was an uneventful flight back to Cascade, most of it spent in the Lear jet's back cabin. Not, mind you, qualifying for the Mile High Club. They had handled those membership requirements on the way out.

Blair spent the four hour flight back 'nursing' Jim. Which meant rubbing lanocaine over all exposed skin - and then rubbing himself over all previously unexposed skin. For once, Jim was a good patient. If by good you mean 'Yes Blair', and 'Right there Blair', and 'Oh God Blair'.

The trick to obedience, Blair had discovered, was in giving the right orders. 'Fuck me now' seemed to work every time.

Jim's vision was slowly fading in - aided by the dim cabin and the quiet. Plus the sex. Jim had definitely linked his recovery to the sex. All those endorphins. He might not be 'normal' by the time they landed, but he'd be - in Jim's words - close enough for government work.

Not that they'd have to work until... Monday at the earliest.

Blair flopped back on the tiny airplane pillow, lost in bliss.

They had won. They had totally fucking won. Today his karma was a cherry red convertible; top down, sky blue, and the prettiest girl in the world... Stop, cut, edit that. It was the meanest Army Ranger in the world in the next seat, but Blair would chose him over a starlet any day of the week, so all good and better than good.

Good.

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"Welcome back to Cascade." Everyone's favorite boss cop was waiting on the tarmac.

"Simon!" Blair danced down the ramp. "Did you hear?"

"Don't laugh too soon." Simon handed over a paper.

"A subpoena?" Blair read closer. "For Jim?"

"The Pemberton case." Jim took the paper over Blair's shoulder.

Right. DUI . Truck driver had jumped the curb and if it hadn't been for Sentinel reflexes he would have been facing assault with a deadly weapon with special circumstances of injury to a peace officer, rather than the current charges of impaired driving with the added (unofficial) charge of annoying the crap out of just about everyone.

Blair had been stuck in the bathroom behind a jammed latch. Thus the reason Jim had been loitering on said street corner. Not Blair's finest moment. Neither he nor the junior prosecutor had looked forward to the jury's response to _that_ detail.

While Blair tried to limbo out under the door, Jim went to arrest the loser. The man had kicked him in the ankle. Rafe had begged Jim to add assault to the charges. Just because 'voice that could break glass' wasn't officially on the felony list. Jim had been too embarrassed that a drunk had actually made contact to go along. Another detail that no one in Major Crimes was eager to spill to a jury.

Simon pointed them to the waiting car. "D.A.'s had enough of the Sandburg zone. He wants the story straight from the horse's mouth."

"Jim's not a horse."

"No. Just one heck of a lot of bull."

"Simon!" Blair snatched the summons back. "Don't you know what this means?"

"Sure do." His Captain grunted. "It means that from now on you're gonna have to do _his_ court paperwork as well as your own."

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 **END**  
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  1. Yes. I've checked. There is no minimum age at which one can testify, and no legal requirement that a witness be mentally competent. (Although the other side can raise the issue. ) Even people 'unable to testify' ( slaves, wives, etc.) have traditionally be allowed to testify to their own injury when no other witnesses were present. That's why Jim was testifying to the _presence_ of Hillman, but not to what he did to _other_ people.
  2. A commission in the Texas Air Force is a pure political thing, requiring only the willingness to support whatever Governor grants the commission. That said, in RL experience most of the officers also own very nice planes, which they use for public service projects like flying donor organs. (As well, of course, as less public-spirited projects like flying politicians.) It is considered a very high honor to be so commissioned.
  3. Governor James Stephen Hogg was the first Governor of Texas born in Texas. In Texas, this is a big thing. He was also pretty darn good at the job, to hear tell. His daughter Ima Hogg donated a lot of money to a lot of causes. She was also something of a big thing.
  4. "Texas is a hanging state." Not really, any more. (And a Texan might add 'or any less'.)I've heard it from people who I'm sure do not, in fact, support the death penalty. The phrase really means something more along the lines of 'we take no bull'. A general statement of frontier toughness.
  5. The Texas Rangers are indeed part of the Texas Highway Patrol. That said - they are still the Texas Rangers. Do NOT mess with Texas! (Also, I used a Ranger here because I didn't want to predict the future of the SI. This is LitGal's world, and I do not presume to have special knowledge of its future.)



6)A lot of the places and things mentioned are real. Others no so much. If you're from Houston, you'll get the snark. If not, you won't care. Like the title. A Texan would get the reference. If you don't? Don't let it ruffle you. You ain't missin' that much.

7) Any persons or politicians you think you recognize are.... OK... probably who you think they are. But all opinions are strictly those of the characters, and chosen purely for dramatic effect. No endorsement or disparagement is intended or implied. This ain't that type of fic.

8) And the title? Judge Roy Bean was a real person ( sorta ) but like so many historical characters he has generated a ream of less-than-historical anecdotes. Judge Bean stories are the Texas version of tales that in other lands start 'once upon a time' - or at least 'no shit, there I was...'.

And again, I would like to thank LitGal for letting me play in her creation. If you haven't read 'Control Issues'? Well, why the heck not! Get along over there right now, hear?

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End

Judge Roy Bean and the Avenging Sentinel by Darklady: kkreinke@earthlink.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.


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